White Raven
by Skyraptor66
Summary: Just a random drabble I wrote on a whim. Spoilers for Eternal Wings and the Lost Ocean.


_Note: I changed the Guardian Spirit's name for those of you who knew him as Arak in my stories. Reason being that the Spirit has taken on an alternate personality in my mind which involves a whole new backstory and is somewhat relevant to the fic. Yes, I'm a Shakespeare nerd, so make fun of his name and I cut you. Spoilers if you haven't finished Eternal Wings yet._

Blasted by sonic waves from the left, the White Winged Darkness managed to catch himself as he faltered, his glittering wings beating frantically to keep balance. For thirty minutes the battle between him and his former companions had raged, Xelha and Mizuti hurling spells at him from all angles while Gibari and Savyna closed in for a swipe at his legs and torso. Lyude played the wild card of them all, able to shoot from a distance or bash him with his gun whenever it suited circumstances. Kalas had been so preoccupied with Xelha, who was obviously powering up for a stronger blow, that Lyude caught him off guard from the side.

At that moment, as the explosion of energy crackled in his ears and burned his skin, Kalas recalled the numerous times he had mocked, accused, and outright tormented the poor soldier-idealistic idiot in uniform. The bastard was probably enjoying his chance to make Kalas pay. Too bad his fun would be short-lived.

Hidden behind a mesh of steel piping, Gibari attempted to revive Mizuti, whom Kalas had nearly gutted minutes before with a well-placed slash of his sword. Savyna lingered in the back to cover them while Gibari dug through his pockets for a healing magnus. Her hard stare seemed particularly fiery as it remained locked on Kalas, blaming him.

For what? He told them he didn't want to fight them. If they'd backed off when he gave them the chance, or just stayed out of the way in the first place, Mizuti would still be in one piece. Granted, he did feel a pang of regret; Mizuti was a good kid. Strange and a little boastful, but not half bad.

Yet that wasn't enough to make him spare her. For the wings on his back, the little sorcerer had to die.

Kalas's attention veered towards Xelha. She seemed to have abandoned her original attack and was now dashing straight at him, dragonfly wings propelling her forward. His sword clashed against her wand as she dove against him with what sounded like a growl. Had she gone insane? Kalas stumbled back, stunned.

Out of nowhere, a left hook caught him in the jaw. Xelha's knuckles ground into his cheek through the soft white cloth of her gloves. For a brief second, he saw her face clearly in the artificial lights that blazed from the ceiling. Rimmed with red, her golden brown eyes met his black gaze with a ferocity that belied her tears. In them he saw two beings staring out at once, Xelha and his guardian spirit, driven by fear, frustration, and animal rage.

The anger he recognized most: how many times as a Spiriter had he felt that emotion bubbling up from an unknown well that seemed to come from the space around his head? He'd heard somewhere—perhaps from Melodia-that, if the passions of the Spirit matched the passions of the Spiriter, the two would momentarily become one. Though wiped of everything but a name, Kalas often wondered what sort of life his guardian spirit had led before their bonding. Whoever Horatio had once been, he harbored a temper to parallel his normally gentle demeanor, like dark to light, like Kalas to Xelha.

Now that raw feeling manifested in Xelha's once-soft gaze, and the White Winged Darkness felt afraid.

A blink, and the presence left Xelha's eyes. Her look of bewilderment gave way to alarm as she realized how close she was standing to the demon that had once been her friend. She leaped into the air with a thrust of her wings and sped away, muttering the incantation for another spell under her breath.

But there was no need to flee: Kalas didn't pursue her, nor did he turn to confront the red-haired soldier slipping behind him to take aim. Instead, his sword arm went limp with shock. A lump formed in his throat as he watched Xelha soar away, for out of all the emotions he saw in her eyes, hate wasn't one of them.


End file.
